M

M sits on the skylit summit with her feet crossed at her ankles, her scarlet silhouette bleeding the shadows of her velvet locks. her bangs poke out from her svelte beanie, lipstick applied with surgical precision, leaving bloodstains on the threaded neck of her water bottle.

we look towards the burnt horizon in unison, our backs turned against the past and our torsos poised to accept our fatalistic futures.

"looks like the storm is coming in," i state the obvious for the sole sake of filling the conversational air between us.

"i am the storm," she causes the world to stir around her.

minerva.